


Memory

by YourFaithfulServant



Series: Nightwing Drabbles [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Amnesia, Brainwashing, Conditioning, Dick Grayson is a Talon, F/M, Gen, M/M, Talon!Dick Grayson, all relationships are implied, this is so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6837049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourFaithfulServant/pseuds/YourFaithfulServant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he knows is the feeling of his stomach flipping in the air, his fist connecting to flesh, the cool whizzing past his face. These are things that he does know deep in his bones, the only things that feel right. Yet, something is still wrong. Something. But it’s just a feeling. An emotion. Facts and orders are the only things he should trust, the white masks tell him. Facts and orders, say the Court.<br/>____</p><p>Dick Grayson has become Talon. Not that he remembers there was a before. Or even his own name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory

It’s all hazy.

Everything he does doesn’t feel like it’s real. It’s all a dream but no, because he’s awake and his fingers around that man’s throat are solid. The crimson splattered on his face isn’t in his head.

Curious enough, it’s his dreams that feel real. (There’s an older man and a woman by his side, a serious child, too serious, a teenager who's the same, and there’s this other man… A little younger than himself. Such a mischievous smile, and with such positive emotion attached to him that feels foreign. He really likes this man, and he doesn’t know why.) During them, there’s something warm in his chest… Happiness. Is it even his own emotion? He doesn’t know. As far as he’s remembered, he hasn’t felt things often.

He doesn’t remember much… Talon doesn’t _feel_ like his name yet it’s all they call him. It must be. _It must be_.

All he knows is the feeling of his stomach flipping in the air, his fist connecting to flesh, the cool whizzing past his face. These are things that he does know deep in his bones, the only things that feel right. Yet, something is still wrong. _Something._ But it’s just a feeling. An emotion. Facts and orders are the only things he should trust, the white masks tell him. Facts and orders, say the Court.

So he listens. He can’t refuse.

(Screaming, pain. It isn’t in his conditioning to say no, _the Court is always right_ )

He shakes some strange thought away. About what? He can’t remember now. He just has an awful memory.

Sometimes they talk about him like he isn’t there.

In fearful tones they whisper, vague names that tug at the edge of missing memory. Of the Batman, Robin, a different Robin, of someone angry in a red mask. Of a woman thief, a Cat Burglar. They are afraid of these people- or no, perhaps what they could do. So they do what is expected.

They send their Talon.

( _He’s only been here for a year. Is he ready?_ they question. _Of course,_ others say. _He doesn’t remember anymore. Doesn’t even recognize their names._ )

( _The conditioning is absolute. Besides, he can always be reset._ )

First, these people act with vigor, hatred. They’re angry for some reason, but he is calm. Always calm. He has no reason to feel anything. It’s just a mission. It isn’t personal. They want to live but have to die. It’s  natural to fight back. He doesn’t take any punch as something against him as a person. Just a survival tactic. Some desperate attempt to cling to life. But there is something more in it, too. Another need.

(One for revenge)

Then, it all changes.

A well aimed kick takes out the clasps that carefully hold his mask in place. It clatters to the ground, the sound echoing on the cracking concrete. He barely reacts, flipping backwards, away. His eyes narrow slightly at them all, but otherwise, his face remains void of any expression at all.

They all stop. Stare.

Even the small one, even the one in the red mask, the angriest ones, just stop.

For not the first time, and certainly not the last, he is confused.

There’s not only intense shock in their features, but sadness. Hurt. Even the anger, even the anger fades to something more frustrated. He can see it in their eyes. It’s the perfect time, perfect time to take them out once and for all. They wouldn't even see it coming.

Yet all he can do is stare back.

Because something… He can almost remember, maybe? Slight confusion lines his eyes and mouth and he takes a step back.

“Do I-” he begins, before a voice in his ear barks at him to return, to leave. The confusion fades from both his mind and his face, because orders are something he can understand, unlike seemingly everything else. He picks up the mask and leaves, and none of them, his enemies (?) try to stop him. Just stare.

On his way back, he forgets what he was going to ask, forgets the slightly familiar faces, especially when they reset him when he returns. Yet, later, when he’s laying in his bed, a thought popped up in his head just before he drifted off to sleep.

_Do I know you?_

He shakes some strange thought away. About what? He can’t remember now.

He just has an awful memory.


End file.
